Letra de System / Big Man, Big M.A.N. / Banned From The Roxy / Hurry Up Garry (Live) - Crass
Letra de canci�n de System / Big Man, Big M.A.N. / Banned From The Roxy / Hurry Up Garry (Live) de Crass lyrics
You can swear by who the fuck you like,
But you're still on the roof.
I'm not gonna change the system,
They're not gonna change the system,
We're not gonna change the system,
Where does that leave you?
Where does that leave me?
Jumping up and down to a bunch of tools,
The organisation treat us like fools.
They can't help it, they didn't make the rules,
It's just the system again, BOLLOCKS.
Bind us round with ignorance,
Fit us up with a petty stance.
Fill us up with cheap romance,
Leave no option, no chance.
What've they got? Fuck all? NO.
What've they got? A swimming pool.
Where did get it? Follow the rules.
System, system.
Keeping their fingers on the breaks,
Down the ladders, up the snakes,
Buy the band and call the tune,
Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah,
Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah,
Nah, nah, nah, nah
They're telling you to do it,
Grow up and tow the line,
They tell you if you do it,
Everything will turn out fine.
Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, what a wonderful life,
God, queen, country, colour telly, car and wife.
Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, what a wonderful life,
God, queen, country, colour telly, car and wife.
It's great if you can do it, it doesn't take a lot,
Just means you must destroy what sensitivity you've got.
Well, that's an easy bargain for the things you're going to get,
You can treat the wife like shit, own a car, a telly set.
Slip off in the evenings for a little on the sly,
And if the wife complains, fuck her first, then black her eye.
There's lots of worthwhile jobs for the lad who wants to know,
Lorry driving's fun, you're always on the go.
One hand on the wheel, the other up some cunt,
Or jerking off to Penthouse with with motorway up front.
The police force offers chances for a bright intelligent lad,
To interfere with anyone cos they're there just to be had.
It offers quite a range for aggression and for spite,
To take out your frustrations in a justifiable light.
It's a mans' life in the army, good pay and lots of fun,
You can stab them with your bayonet, fuck them with your gun.
Look smart in your uniform, that always pulls the skirt,
https://www.coveralia.com/letras/system---big-man--big-m-a-n----banned-from-the-roxy---hurry-up-garry--live--crass.php
Then when you've fucked them good and proper, tell them they're just dirt.
Cos man is spelt big M.A.N. it's the letters of the law.
Man is spelt big M.A.N. that's who the law is for.
You see there's lots of chances in this land of hope and glory,
Try and make your own rules, that's a different story.
If you're a man, you'd better act like one,
Develope your muscles, use your prick like a gun.
Fuck anything that moves, but never pay the price,
Steal, fuck, slaughter, that's their advice.
Are you man enough? Ask the posters on the walls,
Have you got what it takes? Guts and balls?
Keep your myth of manhood, it's been going on too long,
A history of slaughter is the proof that it is wrong.
Big man, big M.A.N. Big man, big M.A.N. Big man, big M.A.N.
Big man, big M.A.N. Big man, big M.A.N. Big man, big M.A.N.
Big man, big M.A.N. Big man, big M.A.N. Big man, big M.A.N.
Big man, big M.A.N. Big man, big M.A.N. Big man, big M.A.N.
Big man, big M.A.N. Big man, big M.A.N.
Big man, J.O.K.E.
Big man, what a fucking joke
The bastards, what are they playing at?
Don't like the music, don't like the words, don't like the sentiments,
Well keep it for the birds and bees, boys, bastards.
Yes that's right, I stepped out of line,
What do you want? What do you want?
As long as I play it moderate, that's fine,
Well, fuck off runt, fuck off runt.
Pick your nose with your ball pen, put your snot in sounds,
Back to your play pen with your street cred minds.
You whimper and whine from the pages of the press,
Ridicule and criticise those who want to change this mess.
There's people our there who are trying to live,
People who care, now, what do you give?
So many parasites living off our sweat,
So many fuckers in for what they can get,
Punk ain't about your standards and your rules,
It ain't another product for the suckers and the fools.
Your sit behind your typewriters shovelling shit,
Rotting in the decadence of your crap lined pit,
Waiting for the action so you can grab a part,
But it stinks so bad, who's going to smell your fart?
"CAN YOU PUT ME ON THE GUEST LIST?
IS THERE ANY FREEBIE DRINK?
I CAN'T WRITE UNLESS I FEEL WELL PISSED."
Piss off, you fucking stink
But you're still on the roof.
I'm not gonna change the system,
They're not gonna change the system,
We're not gonna change the system,
Where does that leave you?
Where does that leave me?
Jumping up and down to a bunch of tools,
The organisation treat us like fools.
They can't help it, they didn't make the rules,
It's just the system again, BOLLOCKS.
Bind us round with ignorance,
Fit us up with a petty stance.
Fill us up with cheap romance,
Leave no option, no chance.
What've they got? Fuck all? NO.
What've they got? A swimming pool.
Where did get it? Follow the rules.
System, system.
Keeping their fingers on the breaks,
Down the ladders, up the snakes,
Buy the band and call the tune,
Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah,
Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah,
Nah, nah, nah, nah
They're telling you to do it,
Grow up and tow the line,
They tell you if you do it,
Everything will turn out fine.
Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, what a wonderful life,
God, queen, country, colour telly, car and wife.
Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, what a wonderful life,
God, queen, country, colour telly, car and wife.
It's great if you can do it, it doesn't take a lot,
Just means you must destroy what sensitivity you've got.
Well, that's an easy bargain for the things you're going to get,
You can treat the wife like shit, own a car, a telly set.
Slip off in the evenings for a little on the sly,
And if the wife complains, fuck her first, then black her eye.
There's lots of worthwhile jobs for the lad who wants to know,
Lorry driving's fun, you're always on the go.
One hand on the wheel, the other up some cunt,
Or jerking off to Penthouse with with motorway up front.
The police force offers chances for a bright intelligent lad,
To interfere with anyone cos they're there just to be had.
It offers quite a range for aggression and for spite,
To take out your frustrations in a justifiable light.
It's a mans' life in the army, good pay and lots of fun,
You can stab them with your bayonet, fuck them with your gun.
Look smart in your uniform, that always pulls the skirt,
https://www.coveralia.com/letras/system---big-man--big-m-a-n----banned-from-the-roxy---hurry-up-garry--live--crass.php
Then when you've fucked them good and proper, tell them they're just dirt.
Cos man is spelt big M.A.N. it's the letters of the law.
Man is spelt big M.A.N. that's who the law is for.
You see there's lots of chances in this land of hope and glory,
Try and make your own rules, that's a different story.
If you're a man, you'd better act like one,
Develope your muscles, use your prick like a gun.
Fuck anything that moves, but never pay the price,
Steal, fuck, slaughter, that's their advice.
Are you man enough? Ask the posters on the walls,
Have you got what it takes? Guts and balls?
Keep your myth of manhood, it's been going on too long,
A history of slaughter is the proof that it is wrong.
Big man, big M.A.N. Big man, big M.A.N. Big man, big M.A.N.
Big man, big M.A.N. Big man, big M.A.N. Big man, big M.A.N.
Big man, big M.A.N. Big man, big M.A.N. Big man, big M.A.N.
Big man, big M.A.N. Big man, big M.A.N. Big man, big M.A.N.
Big man, big M.A.N. Big man, big M.A.N.
Big man, J.O.K.E.
Big man, what a fucking joke
The bastards, what are they playing at?
Don't like the music, don't like the words, don't like the sentiments,
Well keep it for the birds and bees, boys, bastards.
Yes that's right, I stepped out of line,
What do you want? What do you want?
As long as I play it moderate, that's fine,
Well, fuck off runt, fuck off runt.
Pick your nose with your ball pen, put your snot in sounds,
Back to your play pen with your street cred minds.
You whimper and whine from the pages of the press,
Ridicule and criticise those who want to change this mess.
There's people our there who are trying to live,
People who care, now, what do you give?
So many parasites living off our sweat,
So many fuckers in for what they can get,
Punk ain't about your standards and your rules,
It ain't another product for the suckers and the fools.
Your sit behind your typewriters shovelling shit,
Rotting in the decadence of your crap lined pit,
Waiting for the action so you can grab a part,
But it stinks so bad, who's going to smell your fart?
"CAN YOU PUT ME ON THE GUEST LIST?
IS THERE ANY FREEBIE DRINK?
I CAN'T WRITE UNLESS I FEEL WELL PISSED."
Piss off, you fucking stink
